


The Dragonslayer

by TheCivilizedJedi



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Bossy bottom Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin is a mess, Dom/sub Undertones, Face Slapping, Facials, Kissing, M/M, Oral Fixation, POV Alternating, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Riding, Rimming, Rough Sex, Service Top Din Djarin, Tenderness, Topping from the Bottom, Touch starved Din Djarin, Vulnerability, authority kink, i wish i could say it's pure filth but it's a little poetic at times, light bondage (If you squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCivilizedJedi/pseuds/TheCivilizedJedi
Summary: Does one have to be a knight to wear shining armor?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, The Mandalorian/The Marshal
Comments: 26
Kudos: 246





	The Dragonslayer

Ask me to stay.

Ask me.

Ask me.

Come on.

Ask me.

_Dammit!_

But the Marshal doesn’t, and after he shook his hand, Din takes an entirety of six steps away from him before he finds himself frozen in place and unable to go any further.

His shoulders sag as he sighs.

Who is he kidding?

He is a mess under all that shiny beskar. A quivering, incoherent mess.

It is a miracle he somehow manages to breathe in, drawing his lungs full of hot Tatooine air. The problem is, he can’t breathe it out – not unless it is a shaky exhale of “Come with me.”

“What?” The Marshal raises his eyebrows, confusion written all over his face, as if he thinks he has misheard. But Din doesn’t say anything, and the confusion melts into surprise and then sadness as the man shakes his head.

“Mando, I can’t. You know these people need me.” He gestures to the townsfolk around them.

Din doesn’t look.

“I need you more.” A stubborn response. And the despair in his voice can’t be fixed even by the modulator in his helmet.

“Why?” the Marshal asks, oblivious to Din’s inner turmoil.

_Why indeed, Din?_

He has nothing. No answer. No reason. Not even a semblance of an explanation. Just a firm conviction that he’s gonna kriffing _die_ if he doesn’t get to keep this man around, turning his Clan of Two into a Clan of Three.

“I can’t just leave you on this dust ball of a planet, Vanth,” Din grits through his teeth, clenching his fists at his sides in irritation. “You deserve better, and you damn well know it.”

The child coos excitedly in his bag, sensing violence in his shiny daddy’s posture.

“Well, I ain’t leaving this wonderful place.” The Marshal spreads his arms, gesturing around himself, to where the Tusken Raiders are currently digging into the nasty smelling carcass of the Krayt dragon. “So whatcha gonna do about it, huh, Mando?”

“I could just _take_ you, you know?” Din offers immediately, his voice dark, _dangerous_ , before he even has a chance to think – _kriffing stop and_ _think_ _for one blasted moment!_ – about the shit he is saying out loud… 

But it’s too late for that now. Judging by the Marshal’s scandalized expression, in his mind, Din has already been labeled “savage Mandalorian scum” and mentally thrown into the pile of garbage where he belongs.

Right. Nothing more to lose then. All the better…

Before his resolve has a chance to abandon him, leaving its space to embarrassment entirely, Din moves to stand in front of the Marshal in his formidable, looming posture that has never failed to make even the bravest of men tremble.

“I could just drab you, lift you up and carry you to my ship,” he deadpans, crossing his arms on his chest in what is supposed to look like a threatening posture, but is, instead, a _self-hug_ , meant to prevent him from falling apart.

There is a pause. A long moment of silence between them, during which the Marshal levels Din with an unreadable gaze, and Din thinks he might actually die – so tight is the grip of anxiety on his chest.

“Well, maybe you should then,” the Marshal finally challenges, breaking the silence with an amused huff, clearly unimpressed by Din’s threat. “Knock yourself out, Mando. Carry me, the baby and that precious armor of yours through the desert, all the way to Mos Eisley. I bet you can’t actually do it, but I would definitely _love_ to see you try.”

And that is exactly how Cobb Vanth ends up onboard the _Razor Crest._ And in hyperspace. Far, far away from Tatooine just a couple of hours later.

Yeah. He should have known better than making bets with Mandalorians.

*****

“Well, you sure got me where you want me, Mando. A deal is a deal.” Cobb is leaning against a pile of crates in the cargo hold when the Mandalorian emerges from the cockpit. “But what now, huh?”

Mando just lowers his head in response, as if in shame, but doesn’t say a word.

“Where is your kid then?” Cobb asks with a sigh just to elicit any verbal response at all from this strange man, who, for some inexplicable reason, wanted Cobb to come with him so badly that he practically kidnapped him. Only to bring him here and not speak a single word to him since.

Bringing up the child will make him talk though. Of that Cobb is sure. Mando practically has a _Proud Single Dad_ engraved all over his shiny armor.

“I’ve put him to sleep in the cockpit,” the Mandalorian says quietly, a smile so painfully clear in his voice, “he likes it up there.”

“You have?” Cobb raises his eyebrows incredulously. “And how did you manage that, Mando? Just ten minutes ago he looked too excited to fall asleep _ever again_.”

“I may have...” Mando’s voice falters, “sung to him a little.”

“Aww,” despite himself, Cobb breaks into a silly, fond smile, “if that isn’t _adorable!_ Who would have thought you are such a softie under all that armor, Mando!”

“I am not a…softie,” the Mandalorian protests weakly, his voice hitching a little for some reason, and Cobb smirks.

“And I am not a Mandalorian. And last time I checked, I wasn’t a bounty either. So why am I here, Mando?”

“I–” the Mandalorian clears his throat, stalling, as if not really knowing how to excuse his behavior. “I rescued you?”

Well, that did not sound convincing at all. Was there a question mark at the end of that sentence? _Stars!_

Cobb must look really, _really_ unimpressed because Mando, honest to all gods, hangs his head and mutters _apologetically_ but with the same stubborn conviction of being right:

“Knowing you, without the armor, you would be killed within three months on that blasted planet.”

Distractedly, Cobb thinks about how his eyebrows are even still able to crawl up higher than they already have.

“Oh, so I’m just some damsel in distress for you, _o mighty Mandalorian_?” he taunts. _Offended._

“Am I here so that you could pretend to be the knight in well...” he pauses to gesture at all the beskar the Mandalorian is wearing, “ _shining armor?_ ”

Cobb can’t help but smirk at his own pun. Which was totally unintended, by the way, but funny nonetheless.

“Well, I did slay the dragon for you, didn’t I?” Mando points out, taking a step forward, towards Cobb, but falters and stops in his tracks, dropping his gaze down and to the side when Cobb lets out a laugh, his head thrown back and his eyes closed in delight.

“Fair enough,” Cobb huffs finally, inclining his head in agreement. “And what could the _noble knight_ possibly want in return?”

“Ugh. I need– Nothing. _Nothing._ ” The Mandalorian – that confident and intimidating Mandalorian – sounds _flustered_ , and that piques Cobb’s curiosity.

“Are you sure, Mando?” he sounds less harsh now and undeniably intrigued. “I think there _is_ something after all. What are you not telling me?”

“Just– Forget it, okay?” the Mandalorian mumbles under his breath, turning away from Cobb and looking around, as if hoping to find a good, solid explanation of his own strange behavior just hanging from the wall of the cargo hold.

Since Cobb’s arms are already crossed and his eyebrow is already lifted in a challenge, he has nothing else to do but to defiantly raise his chin.

“Well, if you are being like _that_ , then whatever it is you want from me – I ain’t doing it.”

The Mandalorian sighs.

“Obviously.”

“So what, are you gonna take me back to Tatooine now?” Cobb frowns, slightly taken aback by Mando’s resigned acceptance in place where anger and irritation are supposed to be.

“No.”

That’s it. That’s his answer. And no matter how long Cobb waits, hoping for any further explanation on the Mandalorian’s part, none follows.

“So what, am I a prisoner here or something?”

Well, that does elicit a reaction from the ever so composed man.

He whirls around with a start, and even though Cobb cannot see his stupid face under his stupid helmet, he could swear Mando looks horrified at the assumption.

“What? _No!_ ” he sounds that too. “No, you are my... _friend_.”

He emphasizes that with much feeling, but still somehow ends up sounding unconvinced himself.

“Your _friend_?” Cobb raises an unimpressed eyebrow, echoing the word derisively. “I don’t even know your real name, Mando.”

“Well, I–” the Mandalorian tries, but falls silent under that helmet of his.

“Give me your name,” Cobb doesn’t even ask, already somehow knowing that it won’t get him anywhere. No, he _insists._

“Can’t you just keep calling me Mando?” the Mandalorian offers, though without much hope.

Cobb glares. _Seriously?_

“Give me your real name, Mandalorian,” he presses.

“ _Now_.” An outright order.

And Cobb doesn’t even have a chance to marvel at his own audacity because the next moment, the Mandalorian’s whole posture somehow droops. _Softens_ around the words _._

“It’s Din Djarin.”

Cobb stares at him in disbelief for a long moment.

He never actually expected to get that answer. He never thought he would even dare _demand_ it from the Mandalorian in the first place. But he has, and now he’s got his answer.

“Din Djarin,” he tries the name on his tongue. It’s nice. It’s softer than he expected. But it suits the Mandalorian well and it…makes him _shiver_?

Cobb’s eye catches the barely-there movement, but his brain refuses to process it any further.

“Well, _Din Djarin_ ,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead tiredly, “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but it’s not. Instead of sleeping peacefully in my own home, _because of you_ I am on a flying piece of junk, in the middle of kriffing nowhere, and I’m gonna need a drink.”

Cobb points an accusing finger at the Mandalorian’s – _Din’s_ – chest and turns around to storm off, but stops dead in his tracks when the man’s voice calls after him immediately, its deep timbre placating and almost…pleading?

“Okay! Okay, I’ll buy you as many drinks as you like. As soon as we land.”

If Cobb didn’t know any better, he would say Din sounded actually _desperate_ to appease him for some reason.

Now that is… _interesting._

“And dinner?” Cobb knows he should probably just accept the Mandalorian’s unspoken apology in the form of a few shots of cheap alcohol, but he just can’t help pushing further. “I ain’t eating those rations of yours. I want _real_ food.”

“Okay.” Just so simply. No arguing. No objections. “Dinner is on me.”

Cobb slowly turns back around to look at the Mandalorian. Well, to stare, actually.

He only realizes it now, but all this time, the Mandalorian has been treating him like some timid wild animal. No sudden moves. Hands in sight at all times, palms raised in a calming gesture. Careful not to spook him, but not really knowing what to do, how to handle him.

Cobb almost laughs at Mando’s awkward, truly _disastrous_ attempt at social interaction.

The poor bastard has no idea how to communicate with people outside of his work, let alone make friends.

Oh, this is gonna be _so much fun!_

Cobb barely restrains himself from grinning smugly.

“I am cold,” he says tentatively, just testing the waters. “Space is freezing, and I grew up in a desert, you know.”

“Okay, I–” The Mandalorian looks lost for a second, and Cobb almost feels pity for him.

Then he slowly tugs off his cape, still careful not to make any sudden moves, and holds it out to Cobb with both hands almost reverently, like an offering.

“Here.”

Cobb feels his blood run faster with some sudden weird excitement, his heart pounding like crazy in his chest, but on the outside, he just raises his eyebrow, his arms still crossed over his chest and pointedly not moving to accept the cape.

The Mandalorian just sighs again, hanging his head in silent resignation.

Then he steps closer, slowly, tentatively, moving to stand behind Cobb’s tense back, and carefully wraps the cape around his shoulders, squeezing them just slightly, as if in reassurance.

_You are safe. I’ll take care of you._

“I’ll get you new clothes and whatever else you want as soon as we land on Jakku.” He leans over Cobb’s shoulder to mutter his promise somewhere close to his ear, sending a sudden electric charge of excitement down Cobb’s spine.

Cobb turns his head, tilting it just slightly, and his burning cheek almost touches the cold surface of beskar.

The Mandalorian’s hands slide down Cobb’s shoulders, smoothing the cape out, and the swishing sound of his gloves moving along the soft fabric is almost like a sigh.

_Oh._

Cobb might now have an idea what this really is about.

“But Jakku is a desert, and I want to see an ocean. Take me to one,” Cobb says experimentally, a sharp demand in his voice, just to see if he is right, and surely enough...

“Okay. Of course. I’ll just– Um...” The Mandalorian clears his throat nervously, drawing back with a jerky movement, as if suddenly startled by the sight of his own hands sliding down Cobb’s forearms. “I’ll go change the course.”

He awkwardly walks to the ladder leading into the cockpit.

Cobb watches him with mild amusement.

_What a trainwreck._

*****

“It’s done. We’ll be on Mon Cala in a few hours,” Mando declares, emerging from the cockpit and closing the hatch quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping child. “If there is anything else I could do to– Uh…”

_Interesting indeed..._

Cobb inclines his head, silently wondering how far he can take this. Perhaps, all the way?

“There is one thing…” Cobb draws out, pretending to be contemplating it.

“Yeah?”

Is it just Cobb’s imagination, or did Din’s voice just sound hopeful as he dashed forward to stand in front of him? 

Awaiting instructions. 

_Ready to please._

And maybe Cobb is reading it wrong, and the Mandalorian is going to kill him for this, but the idea is so wild that it immediately seems worth a try, so what the hell…

“Kneel,” he says. 

“What?” Din chokes out, looking lost instead of murderous, and Cobb can finally let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Isn’t that why you took me with you, Mando?” Cobb raises an eyebrow, challenging the Mandalorian to deny it. “So that I would boss you around?”

“No, I– Ugh.” Din sounds flustered instead of angry, and Cobb can’t help but chuckle.

“No?” He crosses his arms on his chest. “So you don’t want me to make you _obey_ like the good little Mandalorian you are?”

“You can’t make me do anything,” Din responds defensively but still somehow manages to sound unsure.

“Oh, no?” Cobb challenges, taking a step forward – to where the Mandalorian is standing, frozen like a bantha in the headlights.

“See,” Cobb croons, taking another step closer, “all that tough, manly Mandalorian act of yours doesn’t impress me, so…”

He places a hand onto the man’s beskar-covered shoulder and pushes him down. _Just slightly._

“Kneel, Mando.”

The Mandalorian _tumbles down_ like a bag of rocks under that touch, and Cobb’s heart sinks into his stomach along with him.

_Oh, kriff._

Cobb’s own knees almost buckle from the sudden onslaught of both relief and arousal too, but he makes himself stand upright, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

“There you go, Mando. Wasn’t that difficult, was it?”

“ _No_ ,” the Mandalorian rasps, shaking his lowered head, that one word inexplicably managing to convey his astonishment and…relief?

Cobb feels exactly the same. He just isn’t so obvious about it, even though he is not the one actually wearing a helmet to cover up his emotions.

“ _Good boy_ ,” he breathes out, barely audibly, reaching out to pet the top of Din’s helmet, and the Mandalorian shudders bodily, as though he can actually feel the touch.

“Don’t call me that.” He probably meant it to sound threatening, but his voice breaks halfway through the sentence, and Cobb chuckles.

“Why? Doesn’t it make you all hot and bothered under that strong, masculine beskar of yours, _darling_?”

“Ugh.” The Mandalorian lowers his head again, signaling defeat without even putting up any fight at all. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to relieve some pressure on his cock trapped under the armor.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Cobb almost purrs, watching Din squirm under his attention. “Why don’t you take it off for me, _sweetheart_?”

“No, I can’t just–” Mando clenches and unclenches his fists on his lap in nervous agitation. “You can’t make me…”

His voice is clear, albeit a little shaky, but still all Cobb hears is _make me._

“Take it off,” he orders sharply, deliberately repeating Din’s own words from the day they met with a smug grin. “Or I will.”

The Mandalorian huffs out an _actual_ _laugh!_ Shaking his head and clearly appreciating the irony.

“Okay,” he says. For what feels like a hundredth time in just a few hours.

He starts by taking off his gloves, and once his long, pale fingers are free, Cobb’s breath hitches as he watches them quickly work the straps and buckles holding the armor in place.

The Mandalorian rises to his feet to remove it. Tear if off himself, piece by piece. Roughly. Impatiently. Without any reverence Cobb was expecting.

It is so strange, so surreal to watch – as though a creature only remotely resembling a human being were taking off its shell and skin right before Cobb’s eyes.

The beskar parts hit the floor with a resounding clatter, each one making Cobb almost jump.

His skin crawls with goosebumps.

Oh, this is _so wrong_. Seeing the Mandalorian like that. Stripped bare before him. So vulnerable without his armor. So human. _Delicious._

Cobb’s mouth waters at the sight. And if his fingers are trembling slightly when he reaches out to touch Din Djarin’s bare skin, neither of them mentions it.

The sound Din emits when Cobb’s palm presses to his chest right where his heart is trying to break his rib cage and jump out – is nothing if not a broken sob. Not even the helmet can hide that.

A shiver runs through his body, and he staggers back on unsteady feet, as if trying to recoil from the touch, but Cobb’s hand quickly slides up to catch the nape of his neck and hold him firmly in place.

“Shh, honey,” Cobb coos reassuringly. “It’s okay. It’s fine. You are safe.”

But the Mandalorian is breathing harshly, erratically, his chest rising and falling with quick exhales.

_A hunted beast._

“Oh, my sweet darling.” Cobb’s voice is almost a whisper when he speaks, trying not to trigger Mando’s fight or flight response again. “You’ve never let anyone touch you like this before, have you?”

“No,” is a hoarse, broken response, and Cobb swears under his breath.

How did he not see it before? This man is so painfully _raw_ under that beskar shell of his. 

His impressive stoic bravado could fool anyone though. But the way he is with his kid… The chest-tightening tenderness. _Stars!_ Cobb doesn’t even know how he could possibly overlook _that._

And now, this _pure, untamed_ Mandalorian is all _his_. Cobb shakes his head, doing his best to ignore that hungry, possessive feeling the sudden realization has woken in him.

“It’s okay, Din. You are doing so well. So good for me,” he murmurs instead, pressing a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along the line of Din’s shoulder until his nose presses into the crook of his neck. He breathes out a shaky exhale there, scalding hot against the tender skin, and the Mandalorian just… _falls_ back down to his knees. As if his legs have refused to hold him up anymore.

“ _Marshal_ , I–” he sounds broken, the poor thing.

He is breathing harshly again, his chest heaving with panicked inhales.

“Shh, Mando.” Cobb caresses the cool surface of the helmet, imagining Din’s actual skin under his touch. “Just tell me what you need.”

“Ugmpf,” the Mandalorian utters something unintelligible under that shiny bucket of his, and reaches up to unbuckle Cobb’s pants.

Cobb catches his wrist.

“No, darling.” He shakes his head. “You’re gonna have to talk to me first.”

“With your _words_ ,” Cobb presses when the Mandalorian just groans impatiently and tries to lift Cobb’s shirt up with his other hand.

“I, uh–” Din honestly tries, but falls silent again, hanging his head. _Defeated._

“Stars, you’re such a _mess_ , Mando!” Cobb huffs, shaking his head and smiling fondly.

“It’s– You–” Din starts again with a shaky, nervous exhale, and Cobb can almost see it – clear as day – how the Mandalorian bites his lip somewhere under all that emotionless beskar. “You touching me– It’s just too much. I can’t–” He clears his throat. “I can’t take it all. I’m gonna– Ugh…”

He falls silent, embarrassment almost palpable around him.

“You’re gonna come if I just touch your skin too much?” Cobb’s eyebrows crawl up in astonishment.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything more.

“Well, I–” Cobb is lost for words for a moment there. “What do you want me t–”

“Let me touch _you_.” Mando exhales immediately, not even letting Cobb finish. “I want to touch you. Please. I want to touch you. All over.”

This time the words spill out of Din’s mouth unhindered, as though he has been practicing them in his mind for a while now.

Cobb chuckles.

“Yeah, that sounds great, but you don’t even own a bed.”

“I do!” Din protests. “I–”

But Cobb doesn’t let him finish.

“You sleep in a _closet_ , Mando.”

“Ugh.” Now the Mandalorian seems even more embarrassed than before, and Cobb silently wonders how that is at all possible. “Listen, I– I’ll buy a proper bed the first chance I get, okay? I’ll buy you anything _._ Whatever you want. Just– _This once_ …”

Cobb could bet his life the Mandalorian’s eyes are as pleading as his voice at that moment.

“Alright then.” He nods mercifully and tugs Din’s magnificent cape off his shoulders to spread it on the floor, silently praying that he isn’t too old for this shit.

He slowly removes his clothes, baring inch after inch of his skin to Mando’s hungry, almost tangible gaze.

No, Cobb can’t actually see his eyes, but the way he is shaking with restraint to hold back and not pounce on him like a wild beast is a dead giveaway.

Cobb laughs quietly as he lowers himself onto the cape and sprawls on it wantonly, throwing his head back and luxuriating in the feeling of the soft fabric against his bare skin.

“You can touch now, dear.”

And like an unleashed dog, the Mandalorian dashes forward.

*****

Oh, he is so touch starved.

And all this skin… _Stars!_ All this skin under his palms. Oh, it is a feast! The most delicious of all deserts. Sweeter than any exotic fruit. Headier than any Corellian wine. If only he could taste it. If only he could feel its softness under his lips. If only…

Din’s mouth is watering like crazy, saliva dripping all over the insides of his helmet from his parted lips as he pants, pants through his open mouth.

He doesn’t even realize right away that those pathetic whimpering sounds of an agonizing animal filling his ears are _his own_.

His hands explore the Marshal’s body with strange chaotic reverence, his fingers trembling as they move without any distinct pattern or purpose – just touching everywhere they can reach. Pressing against the prominent outlines of muscles. Tracing harsh lines of the scars. Drinking that milky skin through calloused fingertips.

“Oh, Mando…” the Marshal exhales shakily, grabbing the fabric of the cape to keep himself from touching and throwing his head back, baring the expanse of his neck to Din’s hungry stare. “I must admit, I’m enjoying this– _Ah!_ This _fetish_ of yours. _So much._ But…”

Din freezes in terror at that _but_.

“I just wanted to make sure you are okay.” The Marshal props himself up on his elbows to look at Din, his expression serious in spite of his flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. “It’s just –You look like you are _in pain_.”

“I _am_ ,” Din groans despite himself, the words spilling out before he can catch them. “I want you to take off my helmet.”

“What?” The Marshal’s eyes widen in absolute shock.

“Please, Marshal,” he knows he must sound utterly broken as he begs, caging the other man’s body with his shaky arms barely holding him up and pressing the top of his helmet to his forehead, “please take it off. I will let you.”

“No!” The Marshal looks horrified at the prospect. Just like Din himself. “This is not the way, remember?”

“I know!” Din whispers. “I _know_ , but… I want to take it off. _For you._ ”

“I will _not_ stand between you and your creed, Mando.” The Marshal raises his palms pointedly to indicate that he doesn’t want to be in the middle of Din’s life crisis. “I don’t want you to wake up next morning and realize tha–”

“I love you.”

Here, he said it. The three words he thought he would only ever say to his little green bean. And maybe he is crazy to have confessed something like that to a man he barely just met, but he knew it from the very first moment Cobb Vanth walked into that cantina. Din’s whole world shook that day, crawling away from under his feet, and the Krayt dragon had nothing to do with it.

The very second the Marshal took off that helmet and smiled up at him, Din _knew_. He just knew his own helmet wouldn’t stay on much longer either. He realized he would take it off for that charming Marshal in the only true love confession Mandalorians know.

But the Marshal didn’t know that. He didn’t understand what Din was trying to say, so he had to spell it out for him. Using his _actual words_ , just like the Marshal had told him to.

And now, he is looking up at Din with huge, astonished eyes. _Speechless._ And Din wants to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.

“ _I love you_ ,” he says again. With emphasis. “I love you, and I want to kiss every inch of your body until the day I die, so remove my helmet.”

“ _Oh._ ” The Marshal’s lips part around a shaky exhale, and he closes his eyes, reaching out to tug at Din’s helmet with trembling fingers.

*****

The beskar tears the silence apart with a loud clank as it falls to the metallic floor of the cargo hold. Discarded.

Cobb’s eyelashes are fluttering against his cheeks, not daring to open all the way up.

This moment… It’s so huge. So _significant_. Cobb doesn’t need to be a Mandalorian to realize that. The implications behind this one small gesture… It is a _sacrifice_. It is Din Djarin’s whole life on the altar before him. It’s scary. It’s overwhelming. And it…makes him feel like a god, a little bit.

And oh, he _wants_ to be worshiped.

Cobb opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly _._

Oh.

_Oh._

_Oh no._

If he thought he was enamoured of the grumpy Mandalorian before, then he doesn’t even know what to call what he is feeling now.

How can he be so soft, and disheveled, and _adorable_ under his beskar armor and his steel-cold demeanor? All flushed and panting for air in his nervous agitation…

“I can barely breathe…” he tells Cobb suddenly, his gaze – insecure and vulnerable – searching his face.

“Then let me help you with that, love,” Cobb exhales into Din’s lips, sliding his hand up the nape of his neck into his disheveled curls and pressing their foreheads together. For real this time.

They breathe together. In and out. In and out. Their chests touch with every deep, perfectly synchronized inhale.

Their lips meet, and Cobb almost comes when pleasure pierces his body like an electric charge as he realizes, with startling clarity, that even though he is not a repressed Mandalorian, this moment, this kiss – right there – is the most intimate touch he has ever experienced.

And in the next moment, the Mandalorian – that strong, and stoic, and collected Mandalorian – honest to gods, _whimpers!_

And then it’s like a dam has broken. A torrent of hot, wet kisses covers Cobb’s face: his cheeks, his forehead, his trembling eyelids. Din’s hands and lips are suddenly everywhere, caressing every inch of his body with desperate urgency.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum._ ” The words are pressed into Cobb’s skin with wet, open lips.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum._ ” They are in every shuddering, scalding hot exhale against his bare neck.

“ _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum._ ” Over and over again.

Cobb doesn’t really know what it means in Mando'a, but it feels like _I love you_. Only _deeper_. Bigger somehow. As if something could be more profound than that!

The Mandalorian seems _possessed._ Delirious. Frantic with his desire, but not daring to spill it out as it is – wild and uncontrollable. Only tender touches. Only sweet kisses. Only soft mewls of pleasure against Cobb’s skin as Din worships it with manic determination. So touch starved that it seems he will never get enough.

Cobb is a quivering mess by the time Din’s lips finally part to let his cock into the unbearable wet heat of his mouth.

“Oh, Mando…” Cobb moans, tangling his hand into Din’s hair. And tugging.

The groan Din emits as he drools and swallows around his cock almost makes Cobb see stars.

“That’s right. Take me in deeper like a good boy,” Cobb praises breathlessly, throwing his head back and tightening his grip on Din’s hair as he fucks into his mouth. “Such a good little Mandalorian for me…”

Din whimpers at the praise and only relaxes his throat more, letting Cobb sink into his mouth almost fully.

Again, and again, and again…

“Ahh, Mando…” Cobb chokes on his own cry as he spills into Din’s mouth, feeling his throat constricting around him as he tries to swallow all of it.

*****

The Marshal is so blissed out he barely even notices when Din carefully turns him over onto his stomach, leaning forward to push his face between his ass cheeks and lap at his entrance with an obscene moan of pleasure.

Stars, how _badly_ he has wanted this!

Oh, this is _so worth_ having taken his blasted helmet off!

The very idea that now he can kiss and lick his _cyar'ika_ , his _beloved_ , all over; that he can stuff his mouth full of his dick, and swallow and choke himself on it; that he can suck on his hole, make it wet, make it open as he pushes his tongue into it, over and over and over again, _for hours_ , until the Marshal is a whimpering, incoherent mess… The very idea that he can pleasure his lover like that is worth _everything._

He doesn’t even know how long he stays like that, licking and sucking and spreading the Marshal’s glistening hole with his tongue. It could be minutes, could be hours. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know.

He has already come once, without even touching himself – just from the way the Marshal reached behind his back and grabbed a fistful of his curls, pushing Din’s face into his ass even harder and _holding_ him there.

Din came so hard then. He shuddered bodily. He moaned like a cheap whore. And he even blacked out for a moment there.

But now he is hard again, dripping all over his poor cape (ruined now) and lapping at his lover’s stretched hole with obscene moans and squelching sounds.

“I think you got me prepared enough, dear,” the Marshal breathes out with a sigh of pleasure, his fist tightening in Din’s hair.

“Prepared?” Din echoes dumbly, lifting his wet face glistening with saliva and looking at the Marshal with unfocused, wide-blown pupils.

He can’t concentrate enough to understand what is being asked of him. He feels too good. His mind is drowning in this strange but pleasant haze. He can’t think about anything other than using his mouth to lick and suck and give pleasure to the man he so desperately wants to take care of. Now that he finally can. Now that there is no wall of beskar between them anymore.

“Mhm,” he moans, pressing his face back to where he wants it so badly, but the Marshal’s hand in his curls tugs him back forcefully.

“And an oral fixation to boot, huh?” the Marshal chuckles in amusement, rising to his knees and turning around to face Din. “You are full of surprises, Mando.”

“Please let me suck you off again,” Din begs immediately – _shamelessly_ – having noticed that his lover is hard again too. “I need your dick in my mouth. Please. _Please._ ”

“No. _Down_ , Mando.” With a hand pressed to his chest, the man pushes Din to lie back on the cape, and Din submits, trembling with his sudden urgent need to press his mouth to bare skin but unable to resist the order.

He looks up at the Marshal with dazed, frantic eyes.

He seems to notice Din’s confusion.

“You’re gonna lie back now, like a good, obedient Mandalorian, while I pleasure myself with your cock,” the Marshal explains, straddling his hips and leaning over to whisper against the shell of Din’s ear, sending a hot jolt of electricity through his entire body. “You cannot come until you have satisfied me. Do you understand?”

“Uh.” Din feels like his brain has just short-circuited. All he can do is just lie there, staring up at the Marshal with huge, disbelieving eyes.

“Do you understand, Mandalorian?” The Marshal’s hand traces up Din’s abdomen and chest to rest around the base of his throat. A warning? A threat?

Din shudders under it with a pathetic mewl.

“Yes. Yes, _sir_.”

The Marshal smirks contentedly.

“ _Good boy._ ”

The praise sends a crashing wave of heat through Din’s body, and his hips buckle involuntarily, his hands instinctively reaching to grab his lover’s waist.

The Marshal raises an unimpressed eyebrow, smacking Din’s hands away.

“Can I trust you not to touch me while I ride you?” he inquires, tilting his head and giving Din an appraising once-over.

Din doesn’t even trust his own voice to speak, so... He shakes his head no, shuddering under that gaze. Then the Marshal reaches to the pile of his discarded clothes and fishes out his red kerchief.

“Hands,” he orders sharply, and Din chokes on his breath.

“Yes, sir,” he whispers hoarsely, obediently offering his hands to the man leaning over him. _Like a good little Mandalorian._

When the coarse fabric touches the tender skin of his wrists, Din is already leaking pre-come all over himself, balancing on the very brink of an orgasm.

“Don’t you dare.” The Marshal’s voice is low and dark with warning.

A sharp slap burns Din’s cheek.

But the effect is quite the opposite of what the Marshal must have intended because Din outright _screams_ with blinding pleasure, his back arching off the floor.

_Oh, stars!_

“Who would have thought you like it _this_ rough, huh?” The Marshal’s quite impressed voice cuts through the fog of Din’s high, and his cheeks flare with embarrassment.

He presses his eyes shut, whimpering in distress of being unable to take care of his lover’s needs, before he suddenly realizes – with startling astonishment – that he is still _hard as a rock_ , thanks to the Marshal’s hand squeezing gently at the base of his cock.

“You okay there, darling?” the Marshal asks, smiling down at him with strange fondness.

“Yes,” Din lies even though his entire body is already trembling with all the emotional overload. “ _Yes,_ _sir_.”

“Okay then,” the Marshal nods, guiding Din’s bound wrists up, to the metallic pipe on the wall. “Grab.”

*****

Oh, he looks so absolutely, entirely, utterly debauched. _Ruined_ beyond repair.

He is panting, and sobbing, and not even moaning – _crying out_ – with every motion of Cobb’s hips. He is drenched in sweat, he is choking on his tears, throwing his head back in abandon, all his initial shyness entirely forgotten, as he _begs_ , a desperate litany falling off his lips:

“Please let me come, Marshal. _Sir._ Please, let me come. Please. _Please_ …”

He can barely breathe. He looks like he is on the verge of hysteria. There must be _dents_ in the metal where his fingers are clutching at the pipe, but he still hasn’t let go of it. He is holding on to it with the desperation of a drowning man.

A proud, powerful Mandalorian – reduced to a tearful, whimpering mess under him. Oh, Cobb can almost taste his desperation in the very air, and it’s _delicious._ Absolutely exquisite.

Cobb smiles, rolling his hips.

“That’s right, Mando. Cry for me. Beg me.”

And he does. Oh, stars, he _does_ , his wet sobs alternating with almost inhuman howls resembling those of a wounded animal.

Yet Cobb only smirks, almost cruelly, and keeps moving, chasing his own pleasure.

And then something just snaps in the Mandalorian: he stops thrashing under Cobb, begging for release or mercy. Instead, he lies perfectly still, his pupils blown impossibly wide, as his lips start another mantra.

“Come on my face, Marshal. Please, I need it. Please, sir. Come all over my face…”

Oh, stars, it’s too hot to be actually happening.

Cobb’s nails dig into the Mandalorian’s impressive six-pack as his hips stutter.

He knows he won’t last much longer, not with the way this sly bastard is begging him to _‘use him for his pleasure’_ in that hoarse, broken voice of his that sends shivers down his spine with every syllable.

Cobb lifts his hips from Din’s cock and moves to straddle his chest instead.

Just a few more strokes – and pearly whiteness splatters all over the Mandalorian’s face and into his invitingly opened mouth.

“Good boy,” Cobb praises him, still trying to catch his breath. 

“You did so well for me. You may come now,” Cobb allows mercifully, gathering his own come from Din’s face with his fingers and pressing them into his parted lips, non-verbally ordering him to suck.

“ _Oh, fuck_ …” the Mandalorian moans before sucking the fingers into his mouth. _Hungrily._

His eyes immediately roll back into his head and his spine arches like a taut bow as his arms strain against his hold on the pipe, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release.

*****

“Will you stay? With me?” Din asks quietly, insecurity returning into his voice again. 

“I want you to,” he clarifies needlessly, just to fill the deafening silence.

The Marshal sighs.

“I am literally holding you, all sweaty and gross, while lying on the floor of your rust bucket in the middle of kriffing nowhere,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the damp hair on the back of Din’s neck and tightening his embrace. “So what do you think, Mando?”

Din presses his back closer to the Marshal’s chest and answers barely audibly, a smile clear in his voice, “I like being the little spoon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This work is not beta'd, so please let me know if you find any mistakes. (BETA WANTED)
> 
> If you liked this work, please consider leaving a comment or come talk to me on tumblr:  
> <https://the-civilized-jedi.tumblr.com>


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